HAVING SUCCESSFULLY survived a mid-life crisis--mainly by living
past mid-life--I felt it was finally time to sell my Harley, the vehicle
I procured a few years back to counter the feelings of insecurity that
come with aging. (Actually, my insecurities began a few years before
mid-life, specifically when Bonnie Hartley was mean to me in second
grade. But my therapist feels strongly that I should just let it go and
stop sticking my tongue out at random 7-year-olds.)

Fortunately, in the Internet age there are many ways to sell a
motorcycle. I first placed an ad on Craigslist, but then I got calls
from people wanting to date my Harley. So I decided to try eBay, a
popular auction site famous for its ease of use among computer engineers
with advanced degrees. For the rest of us, however, there is a high
learning curve that includes accidentally purchasing things you
don't want, such as 12 composting toilets that I somehow placed a
bid on. Thankfully, I was outbid--probably by some other first-time user
shopping for a DVD player--and didn't have to pay for my
transgressions.

My motorcycle had been on eBay for a week, and the only response I
got was from a guy who asked if his $6 bid included shipping. (I
distracted him with a link to composting toilets, then pulled my ad
before I got into more trouble.)

Finally a friend of a friend bought the bike, and I agreed to ride
it out to his house for the price of $3,000 and a lift to the nearest
subway station. As it turned out, it was the farthest stop on the entire
D.C. Metro line, so I had to plan my strategy for riding an hour on
public transportation with $3,000 cash in my pocket. With the confidence
that comes from being a thousandaire, I accepted the challenge.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

THE KEY, I figured, was to blend in and not attract attention. Just
act normally, I told myself, not like a man carrying $3,000. To that
end, I wadded up the cash and pushed it into my right rear pocket,
figuring the protrusion would be dismissed as an unsightly medical
condition, at which people wouldn't want to stare. I further
attempted to obscure it by pulling out half of my shirttail, which I
then gripped tightly with my right hand. This caused me to walk with a
slight limp, but that's to be expected when you stiff-arm your own
shirt, and a small price to pay for becoming virtually invisible to the
curious.

But to my surprise, I seemed to be attracting the attention of a
few people as I walked to the far end of the subway platform. Not
wanting to prolong their unwanted interest, I started whistling, in a
carefree way, "When the Saints Go Marching In," figuring that,
in combination with my other actions, this would convey the nonchalance
of a man who definitely wasn't carrying $3,000.

But they kept looking at me, as did others. This required quick
thinking on my part. What could I do to reassure these strangers that
there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about a man standing
alone at the far end of a subway platform and holding something bulgy in
his back pocket?

So I started dancing, in time to "When the Saints Go Marching
In," despite the fact that family members have told me when I dance
I look like I'm trying to dislodge ill-fitting underwear. Their
unhelpful opinions aside--I dismiss it as envy--I was hoping this would
reassure onlookers that I was just another average guy lost in his own
musical moment, despite a noticeable protrusion in his back pocket.
Finally, they turned away from me, shaking their heads, no doubt feeling
it was a shame I didn't have $3,000 to pay for psychiatric care.

Once inside the train and seated--admittedly, at an awkward angle
resulting from sitting on a bulging pocket covered by a shirttail held
by one of my hands--I continued whistling, just a happy rider sitting
comfortably at a 45 degree angle who is definitely not carrying a lot of
cash.

An hour later at the bank, having fooled dozens of people about my
true mission, I limped proudly up to the teller, pulled the bulky parcel
from my pocket, and walked out tucking my shirt in with the pride that
comes from promising myself I would never do such a stupid thing like
that ever again. (Editor's Note: You are so weird.)

Ed Spivey Jr. is art director of Sojourners. His award-winning
book, A Hamster is Missing in Washington, D.C., is in its second
printing and available at store.sojo.net.

COPYRIGHT 2010 Sojourners
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